Glasses of Water at Midnight
by TruffleHead
Summary: Ever since the family business has started, so have Dean's dreams. Awful, constant nightmares that Dean has been trying to hide from Sammy ever since they've started. He's supposed to be the big brother. Not the one with a nightmare problem. But what happens when a certain Nerd Angel catches on? What happens when he asks what you've been dreaming about?


**So this happened.**

**I have trouble writing anything even remotely dark, so I hope this is alright. *squinchy face*****  
**

**But, don't worry. It's really not that bad. I'm just paranoid about that kind of stuff.**

**Spoilers for Season Three.**

* * *

Dean had a bit of a problem. With nightmares.

It hadn't been too bad, at first. Before all the hunting, he had been fine.

But then, the family business started. And then so did his dreams.

He never told anyone. This was Dean, we're talking about. Other people and his emotions just didn't mix. But his father found out eventually.

It had been back when they would take turns keeping watch, camping out in the middle of the forest hunting who knows what. And Dean would wake up screaming.

Since then, he's gotten better at hiding it from others. Mastered, really. Over the years, he's learned. He doesn't wake up screaming out loud anymore. He's stopped shaking uncontrollably on the outside. He's kept it all in.

It doesn't hurt any less, of course, but it prevents things getting awkward in the middle of the night with another one of his nameless dates. Even Sam doesn't know; he's lied to his face about it too many times to count.

But it's better this way. He's the one who's supposed to stay strong, to always be there, to protect his little munchkin. He's promised.

No need to trouble others with his own emotions. That's when things get... messy. He's supposed to be the big brother.

Not the one with a nightmare problem.

The only problem is... then he went to Hell. Literally.

The nightmares got worse. He's been waking himself up more often than usual, and, more often than usual, he's been unable to go back to sleep. No, that's not right. Not unable. Unwilling. Unwilling to enter back into that world of nightmares. Unwilling to have to watch himself say yes to Alistair again.

Dean dreads the day when he'll wake Sammy up, too. So far he'd been good at keeping it quiet. So far. But Dean knew that the day was steadily approaching.

One day, one day soon, he won't be able to keep it inside any longer.

* * *

Dean's eyes flew open as he gasped, and a second later, he heard the faint click of the door close. What had been her name, again?

The spot next to him was empty. No breathing for him to listen to, to cling to, to distract him, to help him calm down. He hated waking up alone.

With a quick breath, Dean pushed himself out if bed. He had gotten enough sleep to function properly. That was all that mattered.

Stumbing over to the kitchen, Dean filled himself a cup of water and closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to clear his mind.

But it only did the opposite. It only made the images clearer.

Snapping his eyes open, he took a drink of water, focusing on the texture, the temperature, and not on... other things.

"You don't look well." Came a voice out of nowhere.

Jumping, he identified the shadowy silhouette of Cas standing near the door. Quickly, he recovered over the surprise. "Hey, Cas." He greeted quietly.

The form drew nearer; Dean could clearly see his face now. "What were you dreaming about?" Cas asked slowly. Dean almost smiled at the memory of the first time Cas had asked that.

"Sunshine and rainbows, why do you ask?" Dean replied facetiously, gaining back some of his old personality. Some.

Dean swirled the water in his glass and took another drink. Smooth. Cold.

"You're lying." Cas's voice sounded unsure, as if he was a beginner at detecting sarcasm, which Dean supposed he was, and wasn't sure whether that was it or not.

With a breath, Dean decided to clarity for him. "Yes," he said.

Cas looked surprised. Whether at Dean admitting that he was right or at the fact he had been right, Dean wasn't sure. Maybe a little of both. "What were you... really dreaming about?" Cas asked, then.

There was a pause.

Dean almost didn't answer. He didn't know why he did. He didn't think he would have answered if it was anyone but Cas.

"Hell." He said quietly, taking another drink.

Smooth. Cold. Slightly iron-y.

_Iron-y._

Turning around, Dean violently spat out the water. It tasted like blood in his mouth. Blood like he had spilt from who knows how many defenseless souls.

Screaming, pleading for him to stop.

Dean closed his eyes tightly before realizing his mistake a moment too late and snapping them open again with a choked gasp.

_No. No. If only you had said no for a little while longer._

_But you didn't._

"Would you like me to help you sleep?" Cas' voice was deep and scratchy. _Yes,_ Dean thought._ Think of that._

"Nah, don't waste your mojo on me, Cas," Dean said quietly, shakily, still facing the sink, his hands on either side, trying to calm his breathing. He wished Cas would leave already. He didn't want him to see this. He didn't want him to mention anything to Sammy.

"You need to rest, Dean," came that voice again. Deep. Scratchy. Damn _persistent._

"I said I'm _fine_-" Dean spat, spinning around to face Cas. Only he was a lot closer than he had thought him to be. Cas' face was inches from his.

Dean's voice cut off of it's own accord, leaving him staring at Cas like an idiot.

"You don't look it." Cas said seriously, still staring at him like he was seeing right into his soul.

Dean swallowed. "Even if I could sleep again, I wouldn't," he said softly, trying to make him understand.

Cas was silent for a moment. "Ah." He said. "I understand." But he was raising his finders, and they were nearing his forehead.

"Cas, no, don't-" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence.

* * *

That morning, Dean woke up on his bed, fully rested.

Dean sighed.

He had literally dreamt of sunshine and rainbows.


End file.
